


We were gone through the window

by edgelord666



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Edgy, Guns, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Instability, Murder Husbands, Schizophernia, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage AU, Unstable Will, Wow, highschool, saaaaaaaaaadddddddddddddddddddd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgelord666/pseuds/edgelord666
Summary: A highschool AU where will graham is suffering from chronic hallucinatory psychosis, brought on by the loss of his 'best friend' (hannibal symbol #1) and home. Hannibal is two different people, both manage to fuck Will up in every possible way.hannibal #2 tries to take advantage of him.





	1. introoo

**Author's Note:**

> Graham lay alone on the dust-coated floor, blue and pained from the cold. His sunkist arms arched far ahead to reach a promise of sunlight, seem to dangle nearly dead in the white air.
> 
>  
> 
> (i've started taking a little longer to write the chapters so i'm not constantly updating the one broken paragraph i posted from a week ago, and like, ruining everything since you already read it. So don't worry about my bullshit updates anymore i'm trying not to do that lol )

Chapter One 

 

Graham lay alone on the dust-coated floor, blue and pained from the cold. His sunkist arms arched far ahead to reach a promise of sunlight, seem to dangle nearly dead in the white air. 

He himself is not sure when they floated up, or how he managed the strength to do it.  
His eyelids flutter shut, coaxing out the broken-screen black that reminds him you are gone. The eternal pale light dances like floaters around his body, invading the peace of darkness. The crisp air hums, stinging his very core.  
A warm yellow glow fills his vision now, blurred by tears, and he does not want to see the world around him still turning at the same dizzying pace. How could he be so blind? Why could he see now?

He trembles, lips parted, and wills the defiant limbs back, to help blind him once more. 

Silence is all the boy wants now. For every cicada, cricket, and car -everything that could breathe- to stop tormenting him with their lively, mocking existence.

Three years ago, he would have been laughing with them. But now, in this run down home, There is no one left to laugh with. His consciousness, if it can rightfully be his own, has become a stone weight, constantly sinking the ship lower. 

‘We used to stay here together,’ he thinks in regret, 

‘I would have helped you. I asked to help you, but what did you say? That i wasn’t-’

“Shut up.” murmurs a new, deeper, voice- “I never asked you, Why couldn’t you stay away? I told you i'd hurt you.”

“Leaving hurt me...” he murmurs to the inside of his arm, moving it to create a hole to see through. 

“And whose fault was that?”

His head turns to the side at the voice, barely registering it was really there.

The real you, he thinks, is too picky with his words. prude.

Reluctantly, slow, he wipes the forming tears away with an already damp sleeve. The rough fabric no longer helps, it just irritates the skin to a burning rosy shade. It accentuates the bags, but it won’t matter. He has no family too see it. No more nagging, worrying, no more ridiculous questions about how he’d slept that night. He never did sleep, even with them.

“I know for a fact, that you find me very enticing.”

Graham lifts his head up from the ground and looks into the hollow air, filled to the brim, with odd creatures.  
An old man to his right, a lanky red demon crawling along the panels above- looking for a new victim-, jellyfish-like amethyst swim his way, pushing through nothing. Soft, overgrown blue ferns spring up from the stained tile to wrap around his ankles. He shakes them loose, and closes his eyes.  
When they next open, there is a lone, gigantic, blood-shot eye that stares right through him.  
Then he’s alone. Blink. there’s people everywhere. Blink, The ferns eat him alive.  
Another blink: he’s drowning. 

This rapid changing continues on at a dizzying pace, speeding up with his heartbeat, until finally, the liquid gems come back. They’ve begun to move up towards the ceiling, bubbling their bodies ahead, one at a time. 

A cold sweat trails down his back, hits every bone of the wretched man's spine. When he’s alone, Graham likes to think the beads sparkle. 

He can’t find the source of the voice. He never can, so he talks to the faint purring of the jellies. 

“I-I wish you were here” He tries a smile at the tiny creatures, but gets nothing in return.  
There is the sudden sensation of one of the gelatin bubbles being shoved down his throat, being to big to pass his lips. 

“I’m always here!”

It gets stuck on the slimy flesh. He scrambles to shove three clumsy fingers far down the back of his throat to pull it out.  
With a choked sob, he pours the contents of his stomach up into the toilet. The tears feel like needles, cutting every skin cell they stream over. They dig spore-like holes in his already pale complexion.  
He looks into the bowl, sides sprayed with bile, and finds the dead jelly. It’s enchanted violet coating is veiled by the murky-yellow vomit, and looking at this baby of an animal, He feels responsible. 

Dark red blood fills the bowl, and Graham can’t handle it. The blinking starts back up. His hands cover his eyes, but the visions invade his head. They lap over his swollen eyelids, and dance cold air into the useless holes.

“Do you remember when we ate all those donuts? The ones with the cream filling? This reminds me of that,” The voice goes on, “you remember, don’t you?” 

For a moment, in the frustration of his mind, Will believes he seen a silhouette of the older man again. He opens his eyes to find it was just the light bulb above him that had leaked in.

“Can’t you take anything seriously?!” he lashes out

“Can’t you take a joke? You have a breakdown every time i visit- It’s fucking pathetic!”

Graham's eyes flicker back to the dirty toilet bowl.

“Shut up..!” He says to the thick air, his voice getting higher, “just stop it!” He chokes

“What's the matter, Jelly 'got your tongue'? ” 

The smaller boy starts shaking. Greased up, dirty brown strands fall down to his nose.The dead ends itch with every jerk of his porcelain form. He starts to cry without tears, because he knows how pathetic this really is. He is just a hallucination Graham thinks, he can’t hurt us.

You are dead thinks.

The estranged voice is still invisibly upset, he concludes, by the dense, now wavering silence.

“Don’t.”


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's weekend and a more in-depth view on his regular life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CRITIQUE ME. FUCK CREATIVE CRITICISM SOMEONE LITERALLY DESTROY ME. IF YOU THINK "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS SENTENCE" THEN ASK ME, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SENTENCE?"

Will left the bathroom stall that day, and walked home. ‘What’s the point in school anyways?’ He thinks to himself on the walk, ‘They can’t teach me anything i don’t know.’  
He hurries along at a shaky pace, feeling like he’ll do...Something. Pass out, scream, disappear. He’s not sure what ails him this time.

The rest of the weekend goes by sluggishly, a mix of sleeping, blackouts from drinking, making sure his dogs are okay and fed. He’ll wake up at different times, get them food, water, then go back to laying on the old scratchy carpet, by far his favorite place to pass out. Occasionally a sort of Wendigo will appear at the window, only half looking in. It’s stare is clear, but does it even have eyes? Can it see him too? When it reaches out it’s long, broken, needle like fingers towards the glass Will just closes his eyes and counts back from One hundred until it walks back into the dense wood. 

Some of the smaller dogs will go out and chase rabbits around the lawn, while the bigger ones lay around him like oversized teddy bears in the living room. He used to have a few, when he was little. It makes him both sad and happy to thing about how he begged his mom for these useless things they couldn't afford, and he wonders how that could be. He really wishes she could be with him instead of these strangers he always sees. Even his dad, as cruel as he was, would be a kind change from an unfeeling, gigantic red eyeball. He tries not to think how it could be a symbol for his desires, insecurities, or whatever else he's been conditioned to think about ever so "uniquely" in the English class he barely visits. Napping is just easier than thinking sometimes, and this is one of those times. Once or twice he’ll be woken up by a hungry pup, but doesn’t really mind. He likes taking care of them.

Will found them all at different times, different places- alleys, parks, pounds- all unwanted or beaten, alone and scared. He couldn’t help but sympathize. When he looks into the cold black or blue eyes he sees no ill intention; Nothing but the blind loyalty of an animal. Just another lost boy who wants to be loved, have a home. He sees himself, the better side of him that the voices all together refuse to acknowledge. Then again, maybe the best part of him is the worst that he can get. Some nights he thinks of how he could beat them and they’d still come to him for a nice co-napping session on the floor. No real pillows, good food, filtered water, no reason the return, but they still come back.  
He never does hurt them- He can’t help but emphasize. In his opinion, cliche as it feels, that may just be a form of self harm, and he won't hate something else because it's like himself.  
Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he likes to think they help keep ‘demon’ away from him. 

So is the chaotic silence of every weekend for poor Will. No real excitement, and only mild anxiety.  
Despite all of the unconsciousness, he didn’t dream, and was as tired on Monday as he was on the walk home that Friday. The morning still seems to mock him with the promise of something new happening everyday, that maybe, just maybe today could be different. He's bitter about the whole concept of change, and convinced himself to be content with the misery he's in. He'll treat it like a superpower that sets him apart from his classmates, because he does not /want/ to be different if that means being an outcast. So in his mind, he saves the world everyday, finds a new dimension, and if he gave away his secret, someone else would get hurt. Not him. He also thinks, that he's getting too old to lie to himself. This morning he makes an extra-large cup of coffee in the same broken mug as always; no sugar, no cream. The chipped edge has been smoothed by a few runs in the wash, and feels slightly smoother than the rustic glaze. When the first bell for class rings, Will goes straight to the bathroom to skip again. He hasn’t been to this class in a few months. If he’s honest, He’s just going to school to pass the time away from his house. Too many memories, too much room for thought. He's never been too good with isolation.

He can’t see anyone or anything in the tiled stall today. Noting that the janitor hasn't come in yet- He can tell this from the toilet water not yet blue from the daily cleaning- He considers leaving. But he doesn't want to be looked at, so he talks to himself in the mirror, pretending he’s the rough voice he usually hears around this time.

“Hello, Will.” he says to himself, “How are you today?”

“Why,” Will muses, “Are you so out of character?”

He hums to himself in reply, deep with a feigned accent.

“I’m only what you make me, Will. Psychosis is based on the delusions of a pre-existing entity. I cannot know anything you don’t already.”

“Well then how did you kno-”

“You left your psychology notes out last night.”

“And you... read them?” He asks, genuinely confused.

“No. You did. You just didn’t take it in.”

“But you know you’re a delusion? Do you even have a conscience?”

“Only as much as your deepest fears do, Will.”

He’s not sure if he may have conjured another voice by accident, but he opts for not, because it stops when he stops talking back to his own thoughts. It only serves to make him paranoid he's alone.


End file.
